Cat's Eyes A Highlander/SG-1 Xover By Tasha Part 1 What was left of some of the buildings was very beautiful, but it had been uninhabited for a very long time. As soon as they walked out of the room that housed the Stargate it was obvious that not a lot lived in the vicinity. Daniel stood there just looking for a while and it reminded him of a scene from some post-apocalyptic movie. Only here the wind whistling through the derelict buildings was real, and the emptiness seemed to surround the team. There were few visual clues as to the culture behind the structures, and nothing really suggested any particular era from Earth's history to explain their origins. "Nobody's home," Jack said from where he stood slightly to the front of the others. "This place feels like a tomb," Daniel commented. "Thank you so much for that happy imagery, Dr Jackson," O'Neill shot back sarcastically. "This looks much like a city Apophis decimated while I was in his service," Teal'c provided in his normal stoic tone. "I would suggest that this place was destroyed by the Goa'uld a very long time ago." "And the sixty four thousand dollar question is - 'Why?'," Jack said, obviously as unhappy with this mission as he had been from the first moment it was mentioned. The world had shown up as dead when the probe had gone through, but some of the pictures it sent back had perked the interest of the scientific side of SGC. Daniel had actually been quite excited by the things he had seen, but then as Jack so often reminded him, his idea of fun was playing in a big sandpit with dead people. The first indications were of an Earth type culture, but standing there Daniel wasn't so sure any more. It was definitely a city, but for some reason he couldn't quite pin down he didn't think it was a human city. "I'd say the answer is down there," Sam offered her opinion on the problem and pointed to a group of large important looking buildings. "Well let's get on with the history lesson then," Jack decided and moved off. "Teal'c check out the perimeter, make sure were not going to suddenly have company. You know how I so dislike surprises. The rest of you follow me." Daniel took one last look around and then headed after the rapidly disappearing Colonel. This place felt old, and as usual anything with age called to him to investigate. Archaeology and anthropology were what he had been born to do and long ago he had decided there was nothing he could do to stop his instincts. He followed Sam into the first of the buildings and just stopped in the doorway, stunned by what he saw. The whole place was open, no supporting walls and no pillars to hold up the vast ceiling. His brain did take a fraction of a second to wonder how it stayed up, but the rest was totally occupied by the paintings that covered every wall. Some of the paintings were abstract, and some were scenes. There was no longer a question about the alien feel of the city -- the people who had lived here were humanoid, but the crest ridges over the top of their heads and the wide, colourful eyes showed they were definitely not from Earth. The first thing Daniel noted was that the story on the walls showed everything from birth to death, but there was not a solitary battle. This building gave the anthropologist an underlying sense of peace and it was actually quite a profound moment. "Wow," Sam said as she looked around. "Wow, maybe, Major," O'Neill responded, "but is this what we came for?" Daniel forced down the retort that came to his lips and instead walked further into the building. He was getting a picture of the people who had lived here, and he was already almost sure about several things. "I think we may be looking at a culture as or more advanced than the Goa'uld," he voiced his opinion out loud before Jack could ask Carter any more terse questions. "That looks like a depiction of space flight," he pointed to his right, "and over there, I think anyway, is something like a sarcophagus. In a primitive culture I'd say it was a scene of magical healing, but with the rest of it I'd have to go with some sort of medical miracle." When he looked back at Jack, the officer didn't look very impressed. "If they were so advanced why aren't they still here? How were they driven away?" he asked pointedly. "Daniel has a point, sir," Sam put in her two cents. "Look around," she suggested, "do you see one picture of war? In many cultures it's the warriors and heroes who are depicted in art. If these people were peaceful it's possible they didn't defend themselves. They could have been pacifists like the Nox." To his credit Jack did glance up at the paintings again. "Okay, point taken," he said, and Daniel had a sneaking suspicion that the scientists of the group did actually have an effect on their leader even if the Colonel would never admit it. Daniel took the opportunity to wander off and look around. It was a very beautiful building, even if part of the roof was missing and there was rubble on the floor. He found an anthropologist's dream scratched into the wall behind one of the large piles or stone. It wasn't part of the design of the building, it was scratched into the bright red dress of a character in one of the scenes. Daniel was peering at it so intently that he didn't realise Sam had walked up behind him until she leant over his shoulder to have a look. "Anything you can translate?" she asked as he finally looked at her. "It doesn't look similar to anything I've ever seen." "Me either," the anthropologist admitted slowly as he glanced back at the text. "Bits are almost familiar, but in this combination it's unique in my experience." The two studied it for a while longer and then O'Neill joined them. Daniel tried to ignore him and get on with the job at hand, but Jack had a way of being very present even when he wasn't saying anything. The anthropologist could feel the officer's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. "Well what's it say, Danny?" O'Neill finally asked in a totally neutral, but unerringly annoying tone. "I don't know," Daniel had to admit, and hoped he kept the pique out of his voice. "We should move on," Jack told them, "there might be more interesting stuff than alien graffiti in some of those other buildings." Daniel's patience was stretched very thin, but he managed to keep his temper. "This is interesting," he said and refused to look anywhere but at the writing. "It isn't anything to do with the rest of the design it could be important." "Whatever makes you happy," O'Neill replied in an infuriatingly off- hand tone. "You can stay here, Carter and I will go and look for other junk." Daniel chose not to reply and he didn't glance up until he was sure his companions had at least reached the door. He knew Jack didn't really mean anything by what he said, but it was so frustrating some times. Shaking his head the anthropologist went about the task of recording what he had found. ====================================================================== Daniel just stared at the text in front of him, and wondered for the thousandth time what it said. He was supposed to be able to read anything, but this, this language was a total mystery. He had no frame of reference from which to decipher the script, he didn't even know which way round it was supposed to be read. Daniel Jackson, the genius translator, was stuck, totally and completely. The annoying thing was that he was irrationally sure that he had to read what Jack seemed to think was an irrelevant piece of gibberish. His friend's view was a perfectly logical one, but all Daniel's instincts told him that the text was important. SG-1 had found no other writing on their entire exhibition; lots of pictures yes, but no writing. The current theory was that the indigenous race had been at a point in their history where they had kept all their texts on the machines that had been found destroyed in various places. Daniel had tried to point out that they couldn't always have done this and there should have been some sort of records, but he was a small voice in a multitude. At least General Hammond had given him leave to study the script for as long as it took. It even looked vaguely familiar in parts; the problem was it didn't actually seem to fit any particular pattern. Some of it was pictographic, some was a little like cuneiform, and certain things almost appeared interchangeable. Bits of the pictographs seemed to contain parts of the symbol-based script, and there appeared to be some significance to the way these were arranged, but it was such a huge puzzle that it just didn't make any sense. It didn't seem to have been designed with anything like the human way of doing things. The alien race that had left it behind was definitely different from anything SG-1 had seen before. Daniel took his glasses off and sat back in his chair, rubbing between his eyes to try to return the vestiges of distance vision he had left after years in academia. Bookwork just didn't seem to be helping, and the leaps in logic that usually helped him with these things weren't making themselves known. He had been working on this for two weeks, and he was getting nowhere. SG-1 had already been on another mission, leaving him behind so that he could continue his work. They had finally let him take it off the base when he pointed out that he would work far better with all his notebooks and reference texts around him. One over zealous commander had suggested they ship the contents of his apartment to SGC, but thankfully General Hammond had put a stop to that. If Daniel couldn't translate it, it was very unlikely anyone else could, and the military had finally had the sense to see this. There were books all over the table, texts on everything that Daniel had even remotely thought of when looking at the alien script. He was coming to the conclusion that this race, whoever they were, might actually have been to earth at some point and interacted with the natives. There were things in some of the more obscure ancient languages which seemed to reflect parts of what he was seeing. It wasn't the type of evidence that had led him to the work that had brought him to the Stargate project, but it was convincing to him, even if another scholar would probably come up with an entirely different view. He picked up one book and turned it over in his hands, opening it and just glancing at the first page to distract his over taxed brain. He read the inscription and smiled slightly: - To Daniel, Never let them tell you your work is nonsense, they weren't there. Adam It had been so long since he had thought of his days before the Stargate program; it seemed so far away now. Travelling to other worlds had rather dwarfed the experience of his academic career. Adam had been a good friend when no one else would even talk to him, a fellow researcher, and the best linguist Daniel had ever met. They had found each other purely by accident at a conference on the use of pictographs in mesa American art. Daniel had been on the verge of taking off his nametag and trying to be anonymous after two other delegates had tried to pick an academic fight over some of his theories. Adam had popped up out of nowhere and taken the other two anthropologists down a peg or two. They had spent the rest of the conference in each other's company. Daniel remembered Adam having the strangest sense of humour as he laughed at some of the oddest times. They had conversed in letters for ages after that. With a guilty pang Daniel realised that he had never answered Adam's last letter that had been just after the Stargate program took over his life. The anthropologist just sat there for a while looking at the spidery handwriting before letting his eyes slip back to script he was studying, and then it hit him. Adam Pierson was his answer. If anyone could help him it was his old friend, and as he reached for the phone he never even stopped to think that the military might not like what he was about to do. ===================================================================== "Is the Highlander at home?" Methos breezed into the dojo as if he owned the place, and Richie gave up on his interrupted kata. "He went DIY shopping about an hour ago," the younger Immortal replied unenthusiastically, "he's planning on redecorating." Richie saw the smirk work it's way into Methos' demeanour and he had to put down the desire to wipe the expression off the five thousand year old Immortal's. "Then I chose the right time to pick up my stuff," he announced with completely irritating cheer, and headed for the elevator. Richie followed--he'd almost finished his workout anyway, and Methos might have been annoying, but he was at least more interesting than an empty dojo. The ancient man just stood there as the machine took them to the loft and his silence finally goaded Richie into a question. "What stuff?" he asked. "Books," Methos replied, "I left them here, oh, about two years ago now. I was moving ...I think. Been meaning to come and get them for ages." Richie raised an eyebrow, if there was one thing he had learned it was that Methos didn't do anything unless he had a reason, and he was curious. "If they've been here this long," he said slowly, "why now?" The other Immortal grinned, and for a moment Richie thought he wasn't going to tell him. "I had a call from an old friend," Methos told him, "and I need them. I'm going on a road trip." The elevator reached its destination and the two men walked out. "Anywhere nice?" Richie enquired. "Nowhere special," Methos replied. The ancient Immortal made a beeline for a trunk in the corner of the room, and Richie was left to survey the loft. Most of the furniture was covered in polythene, and there were paint drip sheets everywhere. This time MacLeod was serious about redecorating, and Richie just knew he was going to be landed with all the really dirty jobs. "Why doesn't he just get the decorators in?" Methos mused, changing the subject back to MacLeod. "It's not as if he doesn't have enough money." "You know Mac," Richie replied, imagining all sorts of tortures the Highlander could find for him, "a man's home is his castle." "Four walls and a roof if you're lucky," the other Immortal commented cynically, "and castles were not all they're cut up to be. If there's someone else who can do it make sure they do, that's my philosophy. Of course when you get to my age there are some things that you just have to do yourself..." "Fancy some company?" Richie said on impulse, interrupting the ancient man's flow of words: anything had to be better than gallons of paint and varnish, even Methos. His companion looked up from where he was rummaging, he expression appeared genuinely surprised. "If I stay here I'll be sanding for the rest of my life," Richie told his companion, hoping that the puppy dog look would work on Methos this one time. "You can come if you want," Methos told him, the Old Man was obviously in a generous mood, "but you'll probably be bored out of your tiny mind. Daniel is an expert in ancient languages." "Anywhere is better than here," Richie replied. "When the Highlander is on a mission you could be right," Methos agreed. "If that house was anything to go by, you're safer anywhere but here. Stand still long enough and he'll paint you." End of Part 1